Page 32 of Manhattan Kiss

I can’t keep calling him Mr. Black. Although maybe I can. It’s kinda sexy.

“Aurora, can you get the cloths off the rack and cover these carts?” Joey, head of room service, asks.

“Of course.”

The uncovered trolleys are lined up like they’re part of a production line.

“Between six thirty and nine is our busiest time. And people expect their food to arrive quickly. We want to make sure we’re as prepared as possible.”

I work quickly, covering the trolleys with tablecloths as pans clatter behind me and chefs bark at each other. There’s always a weird smell of lemons in hotel kitchens. I don’t know what it is, maybe they all use the same detergent or something, but it’s the same at The Rookery.

After I’ve finished putting cloths on the trolleys, I see a bunch of condiments on a counter next to the unused, folded cloths.

“Joey, shall I put these on plates, ready to go?”

“Sure. Two ketchup, a mayo, and a mustard on each. Then get the butter out of the walk-in refrigerator. You’ll see it.”

I get to work. It reminds me of when I first started at The Rookery. It was fun and easy. I had no big responsibilities. I liked working behind the scenes of the hotel, seeing what went on that the guests and diners didn’t see. Half of them wouldn’t set foot in a hotel again if they knew. Rodents were always an issue at The Rookery, but in a big city? It’s so much worse. Hotel on Ninth Street seems to deal with problems quite well, and there’s a strict protocol if there are any sightings. But rodents aren’t the only issue.

I finish plating all the condiments and go get the butter.

When I emerge from the ginormous fridge with the tub of porcelain containers of butter, Bev is sticking the plates of condiments on the trolleys.

“I bet you fifty bucks we’re going to start with Room 325,” Bev says.

My stomach lifts at the mention of Deacon Black’s room. “That’s always the first room to order?” I ask.

“Unless he’s eating out. Sunday to Tuesday. He orders twice. The first order is a beer and something light, like a salad or edamame or something.” She laughs. “Then he works up an appetite and will order a steak or something around nine.”

My insides twist. Working up an appetite isn’t much of a euphemism. “He’s working up an appetite every night?” I ask.

“Pretty much,” she replies. “From what I heard, it’s either the gym, or a woman.”

“But honestly, have you seen the guy in room 325? I swear to god, the fact that he’s not with a different woman every night is a shocker. He’s underperforming, given the way he looks. I bet he has to beat them off with a stick.”

When he kissed me last week, I’d never felt anything like it. No man had ever kissed me with such passion or intensity. It was like he couldn’t not kiss me. Like I was some kind of life force for him or something. It was the kind of kiss that changes you forever, and now? I don’t think I ever want to get kissed again if it’s not the way Deacon kissed me. What would be the point?

But maybe Deacon Black didn’t feel the same way. Maybe a kiss like we shared the other night is normal for him. Maybe he has those same kisses Sunday through Tuesday every week.

The phone attached to the wall behind us starts to ring.

“Here we go,” she says as she lifts the receiver. “Good evening, Mr. Black. What can I get you?” She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “And would you like your steak medium rare?” she asks. Next to the phone on the wall is an iPad, and Bev punches the order through as she speaks. “And to drink? The Argentinian Malbec? Certainly. Is there anything else I can get you? Your order will be with you in approximately thirty minutes. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.” She puts down the receiver and looks at me. “His dick must have fallen off and he’s twisted an ankle. He’s gone straight to the steak.”

My heart lifts in my chest a little and I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

“Joey, did you hear that?” Bev asks. “Black just ordered his steak.”

“At this time?” He glances at the clock. “What happened?”

“Is he down with the pox or something?”

I hope that’s not a thing.

Bev laughs and indicates I should pass her the napkins from the shelf behind me. “I’m going to show you how to fold these and put the cutlery in. Obviously, if they order a steak, we include a steak knife on the tray, but we don’t take out the normal knife. The steak knife is extra.”

The way they set up the napkin and the cutlery is exactly the same as they do at The Rookery.

I fold the napkins and Bev adds the cutlery and the side plate. “I hear you’re the new director of rooms and deputy manager,” she says.